Harry Needs A Makeover!
by littlechivalry
Summary: Harry needs a makeover. That's about it. Written in response to a plethora of makeover fics that have inspired me to write one of my own. HP/DM slash, complete parody, Voldemort dies in an embarassing way. Enjoy!


**Disclaimer:** Yeah, if I owned these characters, my life would be very different than it currently is. And since my life is no different than it normally is, I must not own these characters. Logic!

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**HARRY NEEDS A MAKEOVER**

It was a regular morning at Hogwarts. Students clustered around the long tables lined with heavy platters of everything and anything they might want, while pitchers of juice and milk were passed from hand to hand.

Harry yawned widely and looked for an empty spot on the table in front of him so he could put his head down. Another night of intricate and confusing dreams had left him half-asleep as he staggered through his morning ablutions and down to the Great Hall. All he wanted was to go back to bed.

The dreams weren't Voldemort's sending; the Dark Lord was dead. Tom had caught the latest nasty flu bug going around and since his immune system hadn't fully developed after his return to life he died, uncomfortably and disgustingly, drowning in his own mucous.

But in a way these dreams were worse. Harry always knew in some tiny part of his awareness that the nightmares Voldemort sent were outside of him, but these tortures came from his own life, his own heart.

Night after night he was chased with shining implements he couldn't identify, suffocated in bolts of strange fabric, his eyes were burned, and holes were pierced in his skin with a strange apparatus.

He could feel himself changing, and he didn't like it.

Closing his eyes as he rested his head on his folded arms, Harry didn't notice the Hall getting quieter, until it was completely silent.

He felt a sharp elbow thrust into his side and sat up, startled, to shout at Ron who had been sitting to his left at the time. But when he turned he saw that his friend had been replaced by the softly smirking Draco Malfoy.

"Potter. It's time."

"Time," Harry repeated. "Time for what?"

The blond just smiled and stood, holding his hand outstretched.

Harry looked from it to his friends, expecting argument or help, and saw their expressions were blank of anything but determination.

"He's right, Harry," Hermione said.

Ron nodded as well, "I don't like it either, mate. But it has to happen. I mean, you started it after all."

Harry felt a rush of blood flood his cheeks, but whether it was embarrassment or rage he couldn't be sure.

The red head went on, "For Merlin's sakes, we caught you trying on Ginny's new denims."

Embarrassment.

Harry felt a hand settle on his shoulder, cold seeping through the thick fabric of his robe and shirt to the skin beneath. He turned and saw Draco Malfoy looking down on him with an almost kindly expression on his pale, pointed face.

"Come on, Potter. It's time for your makeover."

Giving in to the idea, Harry nodded and stood, taking the offered hand and following Malfoy out of the Great Hall and towards his fashion destiny.

The hallway outside the Great Hall was empty, the students either at breakfast or still in their beds, and Harry stopped sharply, forcing Draco to stop as well.

"What's going on, Potter? I thought you wanted to do this," the Slytherin said.

"What gave you that idea," Harry grumbled, pushing his robes back over his hips so he could tuck his hands in his pants pockets.

The Slytherin pressed a finger to his lips briefly, staring contemplatively at a blank spot on the wall, and then looked at Harry, "You know, I'm pretty sure it was during our last date. You spent the entire time trying to keep your cousin's cast off trousers up, despite my best efforts to remove them, and then said, 'Draco I really need a makeover.'"

Harry shook his head, "I'm sure I would remember that."

"Well, what about the time you forced me to visit every opticians office in Muggle London, looking for the perfect pair of Buddy Holly frames, despite the fact that I thought they would look terrible on you?"

Harry flushed, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well then, what about the time you 'borrowed' Hermione's clip on hoop earrings and spent three hours trying them on different parts of your body, including your nipp—"

Harry held up a hand and the Slytherin stopped.

"Okay, maybe I said something about wanting to update my look a little, but a complete makeover?"

The Slytherin smiled and held up their joined hands, "Do you, light of my life, trust me?"

Harry nodded.

"Then let's do this," Draco said, starting sharply towards the staircase leading towards the Slytherin dorms and dragging the hapless Gryffindor along behind him.

Hours later, in the privacy of Draco's room, Harry was exhausted but Draco kept pushing and the Gryffindor refused to give in.

"Come on, baby, one more. It's a tight fit, but—"

"How can it be a tight fit? We've been at this for hours."

Draco dropped the leather pants to the floor and put his hands on his hips.

"Harry James Potter. I am giving you a makeover, and at this point I don't even care whether you want it or not. Now, if I tell you to shave your head and spend the rest of your life jumping up and down on one foot, you will do it and you will thank me. Understood?"

Harry nodded; then muttered under his breath, "Yes, Mum Weasley."

Unfortunately he was not quiet enough as well-manicured nails pinched down on the thin cartilage of his ear, now decorated with two silver rings.

"What was that," a deceptively calm voice asked.

Harry turned, _gently_, in the tight grip and found himself facing Malfoy. Placing his hands, freshly buffed fingernails painted a deep indigo, around the blonds' waist, Harry peered through his artfully messy bangs at the other boy.

A quick spell simulating laser surgery had taken care of his myopia and astigmatism, and Harry knew the bright green color of his irises was much more visible with the light tracing of coal liner Draco had applied. All of these things combined gave Harry's coy gaze the stopping power of a bullet train.

"I'm sorry Draco. I just don't appreciate everything you do for me," Harry said softly.

Then he caught the plump glossy pink flesh of his bottom lip between his chemically whitened and magically straightened teeth.

Harry felt a shudder go through Draco's body before the other boy gently let go of the abused ear and pressed a soft damp kiss to the appendage.

Harry felt warm hands settle on his hips then move slowly over the back of his shirt. He heard Draco hiss softly as the blonds' hands caressed aubergine silk clad muscle.

Harry leaned in, letting Dracotake a hot breath of his cinnamon scented shampoo and conditioner, and the sandalwood and orange cologne he had applied.

"I should show you how I feel," Harry said, pressing a leather covered knee between the other boy's legs to caress the cotton clad thigh of his boyfriend. He slowly guided Draco to the bed, gently pushing him down on the surface.

With a husky whisper courtesy of the Weasley twins '_Sexy Suckers, Lozenges for Loudmouth Lovers_' Harry said, "I need to show you exactly how much I appreciate all of this."

Several hours later an exhausted Draco Malfoy staggered out of his Head Boy's room. The Slytherin dorm's common room was filled with Harry's friends just waiting for the unveiling, and at the sight of the bedraggled blond they held their collective breaths.

As Draco collapsed on one of the sturdier and more thickly padded chairs, a curious and sated smile on his face, Harry came out to a stuttering applause.

He looked exactly the same.

"What--," Hermione said, her mouth gaping open like a fish.

Ron stared from Harry to Draco, and back again, and then again a few more times until he felt dizzy and had to sit down.

By this time Hermione had gathered her wits, "What happened? You look the same."

Harry grinned widely, exposing his crooked smile, then pushed his unruly hair off of his face where a few tendrils had caught on the frame of his glasses.

Tugging his Dudley trousers a little higher, then adjusting the handed down T shirt that had slipped off of his shoulder to reveal a few livid bruises, Harry winked at the congregation and walked out of the room.

All eyes turned to Draco, now blinking sleepily.

The boy yawned and said, "Trust me, it's for the best. The boy is dangerous."

Confused and disappointed the crowd cleared away.

When the room was empty Draco stood up again on trembling legs and walked back to his room. The door closed by itself, and inside the bedroom an invisible presence revealed itself to the blond.

"Isn't that better," Harry asked, a laughing smile on his face.

"Yup," Draco sleepily agreed, "Your hotness is just for me."

The leather pants and silk shirt had been placed in a secret drawer at the bottom of Draco's trunk, along with a few select cosmetics and some salacious pictures, for the next time Harry felt like a makeover.

The two boys fell together on the bed to sleep, to dream of costumes and kisses, getting dressed up, and the joy of taking it all off.

A few minutes later, before the grip of sleep became too tight, a sleepy mumble slid out into the dim and quiet room.

"I'm glad you kept the piercing."

"Me too."

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**Note:** So, this was just for fun. I've read a lot of makeover fics and today I got a wild hair to write one of my own. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The idea for Voldemort dying of the flu was inspired by the fact that I myself am getting over the flu right now and have often felt over the past week, that it might be better to die in such a fashion than continue living such a tormented life.

But then I would blow my nose and I felt better.

Review, or I'll sneeze on you, and I am not even kidding.


End file.
